


In Silence I Wait For The Dawn

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, peter gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: Peter gets shot and all Chris can do is talk to him





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petopher Appreciation Week Day 5: Hurt/Comfort

The sound of the door slamming closed is loud, the echo rattling around the room, mixing with Chris' voice, as Peter's legs give way. Agony is spreading through his mid section like fire (harsh and burning and it sounds like his family calling to him) and the floor is rushing up to meet him as he falls, cold stone beckoning him before warmth wraps around him.

"Peter?" Chris' voice is muffled and Peter has to concentrate to hear it, to focus on the words. "Fuck, Peter. Don't you dare."

He looks down when he feels Chris' hand press against his stomach, watches as the blood seeps through his shirt, running over Chris' fingers.

Oh.

It's more of a controlled fall to the floor than anything graceful, Chris' body bracketing Peter's as he cradles him.

"I need to get the bullet out before it heals, Peter," Chris is saying. And Peter knows he's right. He can feel it inside him, foreign and there, whatever wolfsbane the bullet has in it leaching out further into his body, spreading its poison.

"Do it," Peter grinds out. Because they have no choice. The longer the bullet stays in, the quicker he'll die.

His claws dig into Chris' arm as fingers push into the bullet wound. It takes a minute, an hour, forever, but finally Chris is pulling his fingers out of Peter's body, slowly edging the metal out of him until it's free, thrown to the other side of the room to bounce off the locked door.

There's still wolfsbane in him, toxic blood still running in his veins, but they've got time now. Not that it matters. He doubts if the pack knows where they are, the two of them snatched off the streets at different times and different locations to be thrown in here together. All Chris has done by removing the bullet is slow the clock, not stop it entirely. Not when they don't have what they need to purge the poison from him. Not when it's still in him, making his eyelids heavy--

"Hey! Peter, no." Peter winces as Chris jostles him, the soft 'Sorry--' barely audible before, "Eyes open and on me."

His eyes fight him as he opens them, and all he wants to do is curl up and go to sleep, but he knows he can't, knows that's the last thing he needs to do right now.

There's silence for a beat, the sound of his own sluggishly beating heart the only thing Peter can hear running through his ears, before there's a low half-snorted laugh.

"Got to admit," Chris says quietly, "Never thought this would be the way you'd be back in my arms."

It takes Peter a moment to parse the words, to realise that Chris is voluntarily talking about the thing they've never mentioned since Chris came back to Beacon Hills.

"Do you remember what it was like?" Chris asks, like Peter could have ever forgotten it. Like his wolf hadn't accepted Chris Argent as its mate the first time Chris laid him down, and howled out its pain to all who could hear the night Chris walked away.

"You were a jackass," Peter says, the words sharp in his mouth, jagged in a way that's not just because of the not-healing bullet wound in his stomach.

For a moment, Chris looks like he's going to deny it, like he's going to claim it wasn't like that. But then he sighs softly, glancing away before turning back to meet Peter's eyes. "Yeah, I was."

Part of Peter is surprised that Chris actually admitted it. It's a long way from the young hunter who stood in the preserve and told Peter that it wasn't going to work, that they could never be together, not in the way they'd spent so many nights planning.

"We had some good times, Peter," Chris' voice is low, almost like he doesn't want to break the silence around them.

Peter looks away briefly. He can still feel the ghost of the first time Chris touched him, careful fingers moving over his body until Chris had remembered who Peter was, _what_ Peter was. And then the touches had gotten harder, more insistent, and Peter had loved every one of them.

"Yeah," Peter finally admits. "We did." Sometimes, at night, Peter thinks about what it could have been like if they'd escaped Beacon Hills like they'd said they would, if Gerard Argent hadn't had such a grip on his son when Chris was younger.

Wincing as he breathes, black steadily crawling through him, Peter thinks now that all the plans they'd made, all the grand gestures about only needing each other, about how Chris would be Peter's pack, fell so easily under the weight of Gerard, of Talia. He can still hear her voice, hard and damning, when she'd found out where Peter had been sneaking off to at night, when she'd found out he'd given himself to a hunter.

"Hey, no, come on, Peter."

It's only when the pain shoots through him from where Chris has shaken him that Peter realises his eyes had started to drift closed again. But he can't help it, he just wants to sleep. Even though he knows that it's the wolfsbane inside him talking, lulling him into an endless night.

"I loved you, you know. So damn much."

It's the look on Chris' face that tells Peter the words slipped out, unbidden. And he feels like he should take them back, but he doesn't want to. He's spent so long telling himself how much he hates Chris Argent, how much he wants to rend flesh from bone with claws and teeth. He focused on the anger and pain he felt that day, watching Chris turn his back on everything that they'd talked about, everything that Peter had thought both of them had wanted.

"Do you remember that night, the first time we--" Chris' words trail off, but Peter doesn't need him to finish the sentence. He knows exactly what Chris is talking about.

They'd kissed and jerked each other off, but hadn't taken that last step. And Peter knew that Chris had been waiting for him, knew that this wouldn't be Chris' first time, even if it was going to be his.

Peter had wanted it, had trusted Chris. And that night, they'd gone to a motel. The curtains were thin enough to let the light from the neon sign outside shine through, and the single bulb in the bathroom illuminated a myriad of things that Peter tried to ignore. Even with the suspicious stains on the carpet, it had been everything Peter had wanted. The way Chris had laid him out on the bed, gently kissing every part of him. The way Chris' fingers had slipped inside his body, opening Peter up for what was to come. And then the way Chris pushed inside him, his cock pressing into Peter as Chris fucked him.

"I remember," Peter says.

Chris chuckles softly. "I remember the look on your face when you first walked into the bathroom."

"Werewolf nose, Christopher," Peter comments. "You don't want to know what I smelled in there."

There's a soft grimace on Chris' face, before he's talking again, before there are quiet words about the nights they spent together.

And Peter knows what Chris is doing. Because he may be talking about the funfair they went to two towns over, where no one knew them. The way they held hands and ate too much sugar, and Chris used his skills with a gun to win Peter the stuffed wolf that had been hanging from one of the stalls. (It had taken pride of place on Peter's dresser right up until Chris left, until Chris walked away and left Peter behind. Peter had sat in his room and had his claws out, ready to tear the stuffing out and rip it seam from seam. And then Derek had been standing in the door, asking what Peter was doing. Peter had glanced at his nephew before looking back down at the plush toy in his hands. He'd handed the wolf to Derek as he'd walked out of the room, telling him he could have it. Peter doesn't know what happened to it after that, assumes it ended up as smoke and ash, like so much in the house had.)

But it's not about the times they had when they were younger, not about the stolen kisses and the nights spent lying side by side. It's about the black lines that are slowly spreading over Peter, each breath casting them further out.

Peter can feel it moving through him, steady and unstoppable. But it doesn't matter, not now.

"Peter. Peter!"

Chris' voice is far away, low and dull, and it feels like he's underwater. His body is heavy, and he can't keep his eyes open any longer.

"Peter!"

The last thing Peter hears before he fades out is a howl in the distance, and the faint sound of gunshots.

~

It's bright as Peter opens his eyes, the stark light above him shining down in a way that makes him wince and try to turn away.

"Hey, no, careful."

There's a hand on Peter's arm, the fingers of Chris' other hand running through Peter's hair.

The room around him coalesces into Deaton's surgery, sterile and stark.

"What--" It's the only word Peter can get out, his throat feeling like it's full of rocks.

"The pack found us in time. We got enough of the wolfsbane out to buy enough time to get here and let Deaton finish the job," Chris explains.

Part of Peter is surprised they actually tried, instead of just leaving him there to die. And maybe what he's thinking shows on his face, or maybe Chris still knows him better than Peter would care to admit, because there's a low snort.

"You're still pack, Peter."

Barely. There's enough of a pack link to stop him from becoming an omega, but nothing more.

Chris' fingers are still running through his hair, and Peter can't help but turn into the touch.

"You're still pack," Chris says again, his voice stronger, more insistent.

Peter doesn't answer. He can feel himself wanting to go back to sleep, but it doesn't feel as final as it had back in the prison they were being held in.

"Go to sleep, Peter. I'll be here when you wake up."

Peter lets his eyes close, blocking out the brightness as he feels sleep creep up on him.

"I'll be here," Chris murmurs.

And this time, Peter finds himself believing it.


End file.
